


The Gentle Tyrant

by banana-babies (Manyaraz)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Melancholy, this is sort of a role reversal of the usual yamatsukki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manyaraz/pseuds/banana-babies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamaguchi might pet him the wrong way, but by god did he want to be pet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gentle Tyrant

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try interpreting the dynamic between these two in a different way than I usually see. I feel like Yamaguchi gets much less credit than he deserves, even the softest can smother.

Tsukishima  _ tolerated _ Yamaguchi’s presence, fur ruffled like a cat pet the wrong way. “Shut up, Yamaguchi” snapped out with frequency but no real malice; the hiss of a cat declawed. 

_ Sorry Tsukki. _

Said sing-song and nonthreatening, leaning in close like he wanted to brush shoulders while they walked, leaving a breath of air between them more infuriating than if Yamaguchi would just  _ tell him _ what he wants. Assuming, always assuming, always treating him like a feral animal, keeping his distance even while he hunts him down. 

So Tsukishima plays the part and bristles. 

“Why are you following me?” He said in his reedy child’s voice, too young to school his expression away from confusion. Volleyball practice was over. What was he doing here? 

“Sorry, Tsukki.” Yamaguchi had the grace to look chagrined. “I thought we could walk home together. We live in the same direction, anyway…”

_ You thought, you thought. _

Tsukishima looked at him, really looked at him, music playing tinny from the headphones around his neck. Then he turned, then he put his headphones back on, then Yamaguchi jogged back up to his side. Tsukishima didn’t have to look to know what expression painted his face. The look of a dog about to be kicked, a dog who expects nothing less. He kept walking. 

_ You never  _ **_asked._ **

He knew why Yamaguchi joined volleyball. He knew why Yamaguchi decided to become his friend. It was a smart move. Nothing keeps away bullies better than a sports club and a friend a head higher than anyone else at school (with a tongue sharper than any bully). Those first few weeks Tsukishima watched the bruises on Yamaguchi’s knees fade and never return. 

And it made Tsukishima angry _. _

How dare Yamaguchi put him in this position? How dare he deign him his protector? 

How lame. How  _ pathetic. _

Tsukishima was nothing, no bodyguard, no guard dog, no bleeding heart. He was all gangly limbs and skinny wrists and grin bared teeth, but no claws, never any claws. The bullies Yamaguchi was so terrified of could whip Tsukishima in an instant. Even as a child, softer and more pliant than he would one day grow to be, dumber and more pure than he could ever hope to be again, he knew how he was being manipulated, corralled into the corner of Yamaguchi’s expectations. 

They walked home together every night. Yamaguchi started staying over to do homework and study. Tsukishima couldn’t stop thinking about how weak Yamaguchi was, standing behind him in lieu of standing up for himself. What would happen when they parted ways, when they went to high school? Maybe then Yamaguchi would be forced to do something for himself. 

They go to the same high school.

And now Tsukishima is drowning. He’s drowning under the way Yamaguchi looks up to him, all freckles and an adoration that turns Tsukishima’s stomach. Tsukishima gurgles up snark and Yamaguchi snickers and he gets this rush, this sick pride, out of being an untouchable ass with  a loyal dog at his back. It’s fucked up and he knows it, but Yamaguchi was always good at bringing out the worst in him. 

He brags about how great Tsukishima is like that’s all he has to him. Like he can’t think of a single thing worth bragging about about himself. It’s a never-ending stream of Tsukki, Tsukki, Tsukki and Tsukishima wishes Yamaguchi would ramble about himself for once, would give something back for once. But Tsukishima just hisses and Yamaguchi just smiles. 

“Sorry, Tsukki.”

He knows he doesn’t have any claws. 

Maybe he figured it out when he ran his fingers over Tsukishima’s own and only found blunt-gnawed nails at the end of slender digits. Maybe he figured it out when he pushed up Tsukishima’s shirt and smoothed over pale skin, watching him take a shaky breath.

“You don’t like being touched,” Yamaguchi says, eyes flicking up to Tsukishima’s scowling face. They’re both bleeding under their skin, but Tsukishima shows the blush more. “But you let me do this.”

Yamaguchi slides his hands up further, slow and heavy like he knows Tsukishima likes it. His shirt rides up inch by inch and Tsukishima shivers. Autumn chill seeps through the crack of the window by his bed. “What I hate,” he begins. “Is people who try to manufacture familiarity by touching me.

“But you don’t hate this,” Yamaguchi says. Tsukishima doesn’t answer because it wasn’t a question. Yamaguchi doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t set himself up for rejection. It pisses him off like nothing else, but Yamaguchi scratches his back where he can’t reach and shifts closer, eagerly drinking up the softening of his glare.

“You’re so beautiful Tsukki, it makes me jealous.” He skates over Tsukishima’s collarbone and Tsukishima’s hands curl in the sheets. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Tsukishima says. Yamaguchi’s hands slide up from under his shirt collar to stroke his neck. It gets hard to talk. “We’re completely different people. There’s no point in comparing.”

He tilts his jaw back so that Yamaguchi can reach more of his neck, eyes going half-lidded. “We’re different aesthetics.”

Yamaguchi giggles. “Aesthetics? What does that even mean?”

“Figure it out yourself, you’re smart.” 

Really, he simply doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants to enjoy the heavenly sensation of Yamaguchi petting his neck without distraction. Yamaguchi slides up and down with incredibly gentleness, incredible care. It would be creepy if it didn’t feel so nice. No, maybe it’s still creepy,

“No, I get it. You’re the cool one. You have good taste in music and don’t care about what anyone thinks about you. Your hair always looks nice and you never do anything embarrassing. And then I’m just...Well I’m kinda lame. Right?”

Tsukishima curls his lip. “Don’t make it sound like I’m insulting you.”

“Ahaha, sorry, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima wants to take back what he said about Yamaguchi being smart. He wants to snap at him and make him cry. He wants to say: I’m the moon and you’re the earth. I’m cold and scarred where you have so much room to grow. I’m stuck, stuck, in your gravity and you never asked if I wanted to be here. I never had a choice. I never had a chance.

You’re warm and alive and sometimes I feel dead inside. 

Yamaguchi kisses him, soft and nervous like everything else, impossible to turn down. He’s no king, but a gentle tyrant none the less.

“Hnn..” Yamaguchi’s still touching his neck and he’s so sensitive it’s almost unbearable. He twitches, melts under Yamaguchi’s kiss. Tsukishima wonders if Yamaguchi knows how good he is at this. 

They always start chaste, tender lips moving over each other, sighing. Tsukishima’s the one that deepens it, pressing forward and licking into Yamaguchi’s mouth, eyes closed and glasses slipping down his nose. Yamaguchi cards through his hair and animal delight shivers up his spine. 

They kiss each other breathless, tongues sliding and lips sucking. There’s no bite, all self-indulgent sensuality. Tsukishima pulls back to gasp and Yamaguchi follows him. He’s always following him. Yamaguchi smothers him with another kiss before mouthing down to his jaw. Tsukishima lets out a little whine of anticipation and is immediately disgusted. Yamaguchi laughs and licks his neck and Tsukishima remembers why he’s never told him to leave. 

His hands stutter up to curl in Yamaguchi’s shirt as the other kisses over one side of his neck and strokes up the other. Tsukishima is left, mouth unoccupied, to squirm and shift and make little huffs as Yamaguchi takes advantage of this hyper-sensitive part of him. 

“You don’t let anyone else see you like this,” Yamaguchi mumbles against his skin. “No one but me.”

“Like this?” Tsukishima grinds out. It’s so incredibly hard to form sentences right now, brain entirely occupied by the purring of his nerves. “What’s this? What am I like?”

“Well,” Yamaguchi says. “I guess you’re kinda needy right now.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You never show when you want something. Except to me.”

Tsukishima’s lip curls. “And what exactly do I want, Yamaguchi?”

Yamaguchi sucks on his ear and uses both hands to scratch up the back of his neck and Tsukishima stutters out a little moan before he even knows what’s happening, hands twisting the fabric of Yamaguchi’s shirt. 

Yamaguchi pulls back and licks his lips. “You want me to keep touching you.”

“Obviously.” Tsukishima all but rolls his eyes, breathing hard, glasses tipping down his nose. “Idiot,” he adds for good measure.

“Sorry, Tsukki.” Yamaguchi smiles soft and ducks his head as he starts to unbutton Tsukishima’s pants. When his eyes flick back up Tsukishima marvels at how he looks at him like a god, reverent and timid and oh so eager to please. He knows now why gods stay in heaven, far, far, away from their followers.

His pants are pulled past his hipbones and Yamaguchi kneels between Tsukishima’s sprawled out legs to pray.

~ * ~

One night, Yamaguchi growls back. One night, Yamaguchi shows his claws. One night, he finally puts his precious Tsukki in his place. 

And Tsukishima smiles. 

“Yamaguchi, when did you get so cool?” he says.

_ Fucking finally _ , he thinks. 

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [tumblr](http://banana-babies.tumblr.com/)


End file.
